I started writing this out on paper and then decided to blog these feelings.
Maybe I'm alone in them, and maybe I am not.
I'm equal parts hopeful I am and am not. I'd hate for others to feel this way, I'd hate to think I'm the only one who feels this way.
I feel so inadequate. In every area of my life. Every single one. There's not one area of my life where I feel I'm doing well or succeeding.
Lately I've wondered if staying home with my kids and educating them is the right thing. For so many reasons I wonder if this is the right thing for me. For my girls.
I'm not smart enough.
I'm not disciplined enough.
I'm not structured enough.
I'm impatient and crabby.
I'm not a gifted teacher; I'm horrible when it comes to explaining things.
I don't even know how to teach or what teach. What goes together, when do I teach this, is this relevant, am I teaching this just because the schools do?
I used to work at Pier 1 Imports. I also worked as a barista in a local coffee shop. I was great at selling furniture and I was great at making coffee. I can be good at something. I have been good at something.
But this, this mothering and teaching. I am not good at these things.
And I'm a horrid wife.
I get it. I get why women leave. Because this, this stuff is just too much some days. Many days. Most days. And wouldn't it just be easier to leave? To walk away? Wouldn't the children and the husband be better off?
I'm not leaving. I won't.
And I'm not headed off to work outside the home and have my kids in school.
I am, however, venting this hurt and frustration and panic that's rising. Suffocating. That's how I feel, like I'm suffocating. I feel this claustrophobic craziness.
Okay, I'm going to publish now. And in the middle of the night I'll wake up in a panic and try to delete but it'll already have been read and judged and well, and well...oh well.
Here it is and here is me. Uncensored.
4 comments:
Sarah, you are not the only one. Just the other day I told Trevor to his face that I wasn't a good wife...and I truly felt that it was true. I could tell in his eyes that it wasn't but it didn't change the way I felt. WE as women and mothers and wives put SO much pressure on ourselves. To be, well, perfect. WE as women and mothers and wives have to realize that trying to be, is going to make us crazy like crazy with a capital C. I have so many days where I just want to leave, go away somewhere where I don't have all the pressure and responsibility and stress. Those days where I think that my kids should have a better mother and my husband should have a better wife. One that can handle everything during the day and still have energy left after the kids go to sleep to actually spend time with her husband. Then after that bad day where I'm telling myself all day long that I'm not good enough for these kids and this husband I realize that they need me. That they see the good in me and that they think that I am good enough and that keeps me going. But it seems for me that it is a constant cycle of self doubt. You are not alone. Love you friend.
Definitely not alone.....I feel this way much of the time. I am told I have a self-esteem issue/I've been told I am too much of a perfectionist and need to let go a bit. NOT an easy thing to do....Hang in there, friend....I'm going to pray for you...
Read. Not judged. Proud of you for facing this hard stuff, voicing it, and not pretending that it doesn't exist. Love hearing your thoughts, the good, bad, and the ugly because it is real and authentic.
Sarah, you and only you were chosen for your life with great purpose and understanding.
Praying you have more good days than frustrating or bad. Praying that you can know your worth and how greatly you are loved, needed, and wanted. That you are enough, even more than enough, just as you are.
you aren't alone. I can ditto a good portion of these, if not all, at some point in time.
Hang on to Jesus and make Him your focal point. Nothing else. The kids and hubby will benefit by default.
Love you candid honesty, you are not judged at all, just totally covered in prayer.
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